


Clean

by Mapal



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4947202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mapal/pseuds/Mapal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Because Harold had to get that gasoline off somehow and I was desperate for something after that gasoline thing, after John's whole "I don't like it when you go into dangerous situations without me" thing. </p><p>Set as filler in s03e06 Mors Praematura</p><p>This has also been translated by bbangle: <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4953007">洗白白</a></p>
    </blockquote>





	Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Because Harold had to get that gasoline off somehow and I was desperate for something after that gasoline thing, after John's whole "I don't like it when you go into dangerous situations without me" thing. 
> 
> Set as filler in s03e06 Mors Praematura
> 
> This has also been translated by bbangle: [洗白白](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4953007)

“Fucking gasoline, Finch,” John growled, one hand scrubbing over Harold’s shoulders with a flannel firmly. “You were almost burned alive.” The shower overhead poured warm water over him, washing away the stench of gasoline slowly. Harold had never seen John like this. His anger normally bubbled under the surface – when there was a job with a kid involved or an abuse case – and it had never broke through like this before.

If he concentrated, he could feel the tremble in John’s fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, bowing his head a little as John rubbed at his neck a little more gently, careful over the scar tissue. He had been stripped down to his underwear and shoved into the shower almost immediately, shivering from the adrenaline seeping out of his body and the coldness of the damp gasoline on his clothes and skin. John hadn’t even hesitated, had shown no shame, and had simply pulled off every item of clothing on Harold’s body other than the grey briefs he was wearing.

John himself had only taken off his jacket, but he was nearly fully in the shower with Harold. His shirt was sticking to his chest and his slacks were soaked through, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest. A firm hand finally span Harold around to face John for the first time since he had been manhandled into the shower.

Harold had taken off his glasses, but he could see that John’s jaw was set in a hard line, his eyes a different kind of angry. His expression softened a little as he made eye contact with Harold, his grip relaxing on Harold’s shoulder. “You’ve ruined your suit,” Harold offered pathetically, looking over the now see-through shirt and the clingy slacks.

“So have you,” John answered. He wasn’t wrong. The suit Harold had been wearing was beyond salvaging. He was lucky to have gotten out of it alive. “I’m sure you can buy new suits.” John lifted his hand to smooth it through Harold’s hair before reaching for the shampoo.

“You know I’m capable of showering myself,” Harold muttered, but made no effort to stop John from lightly lathering up his hair to wash the gasoline from it. “And what about Mr Sloan?” John paused, eyes drifting slowly from the soap to meet Harold’s gaze.

“He’s fine. I’ll make sure he’s not going to suddenly combust. He’s not my top priority.” Harold wanted to protest. He wanted to voice his concerns that John had gone the way of the machine, putting him before the main task at hand, but he couldn’t. If he was honest, it was nice for someone to care that much. It made something warm settle deep inside him. It made him feel safe.

“I didn’t know if you could get it all off your back,” John grumbled, seemingly more to himself than Harold.

“You’ve finished my back,” he pointed out softly, making John stop. At least the trembling in his fingers seemed to have abated, his anger and frustration simmering down below the surface again. “Really, I’m fine.”

“But you wouldn’t have been.” That tremor, almost undetectable, was back in John’s voice and Harold reached up to take his wrist and stop his almost obsessive scrubbing. “If I hadn’t-”

“Completely disobeyed me,” Harold interrupted, not letting go of John’s wrist. He could see the fingers flex, balling into a fist and then stretching out as if to shake the tremor that had settled back in.

“If I hadn’t disobeyed you, you’d be dead.” A trait in sled dogs that pulled in a team across the Arctic was selective disobedience. They were co-operative more than they were obedient, really. Their job, and especially the job of the alpha, was to completely disobey when the situation was too dangerous to continue. It could save lives. Harold could respect that sometimes orders needed to be ignored. He could respect that John had sensed the danger and had done what he had thought was right. Like the sled dogs, he had sensed the ice was too thin, that action needed to be taken.

Really, Harold was nothing but grateful. “I’m glad,” he said quietly, “that you came when you did.” He reached out to start unfastening the buttons on John’s shirt, noticing his gaze drop as his hands fell to settle on Harold’s forearms. “And I promise I won’t go into a situation like that alone again.”

He reached the bottom of the row of buttons and then peeled the shirt from John’s shoulders. “Take off your pants and get in before you get a chill,” he ordered calmly as he tossed the shirt outside the shower.

John looked at him for a moment, that slightly puppy-dog expression on his face, before he followed the order. He removed his pants and his socks and then stepped under the spray of water with Harold. “I suppose you should wash the front, now,” Harold said as he brushed some stray soap from his face and then rubbed away what was left in his hair.

“I thought you were capable of washing yourself,” John murmured, smirk creeping onto his face. Harold returned with his own small grin and shrugged a little. Getting washed by someone else was really quiet pleasant, and intimate. They were both still wearing their underwear, but something about the situation was so close and special. “I’ll do it in a minute,” John said as he rubbed away some stray bubbles from Harold’s neck.

“Why?”

The question was barely out of his mouth before John’s lips were against his own. It took him by surprise, knocked the wind from his lungs, but at the same time it lit him up from the inside out almost instantly. He pressed a hand to the back of John’s skull to stop him from pulling away, fingers tangled in his wet hair as he deepened the kiss and swayed his body closer to John’s.

He heard the low rumble in John’s chest and felt an arm wrap around the centre of his back to hold him close. John pushed him back until he felt the cool tiles of the shower wall against his skin. They broke for breath, the shower raining down on them as steam curled through the air. “We should probably check on Sloan,” Harold whispered, although not entirely convinced himself that they should get out of the shower right then.

“Unfortunately you have a point,” John said with a sigh. Another kiss was placed on Harold’s lips, and then another. “Later.” It was spoken like a promise that this was something they would continue when they had the time, and the privacy, and Harold felt a small shiver go down his spine. He was certainly looking forwards to revisiting this.


End file.
